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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27972560">all along you were there (but i missed it)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishie/pseuds/wishie'>wishie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, probably more like lovers to lovers tbh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:49:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27972560</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishie/pseuds/wishie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>George takes Dream’s hand. Dream knows he’s not going to be the first to let go. </p><p> —</p><p>When Sapnap bails out on the road trip, Dream and George go alone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>587</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>all along you were there (but i missed it)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>thank you to @porchside for betaing i love uuuuu<br/>and thank you to @godmarked for the title suggestion!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“See, this is what you’re missing out on,” George says, panning the camera over the station wagon. </p><p>Sapnap’s voice is both tinny and jokingly annoyed. “I’m <em> sorry </em> I have a boyfriend and don’t want to spend all my time with you two nimrods.”</p><p>“Dream,” George says, looking over. “Sapnap just called us nimrods.”</p><p>“Karl’s rubbing off on him,” Dream says absentmindedly, where he’s rearranging their supplies so that everything will fit. He thinks that if he moves one bag to the left a little, there will be space for the blankets. “Tell Sapnap that next time I see him it’s on sight. What happened to bros before hoes?”</p><p>“You guys are definitely the hoes, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sapnap says, hanging up.</p><p>“Dream, he hung up on me,” George whines.</p><p>“What do you want me to do about it?” Dream says, amused. He heaves his suitcase into the backseat. All packed. “You ready?”</p><p>“Yeah,” George says. “Are you driving first?”</p><p>“That was the plan,” Dream says. He casts one last look at their college campus, still and empty, and gets in the station wagon. “All aboard, next stop—uh—”</p><p>“San Francisco,” George says, warmly exasperated. “Honestly, Dream, we have an itinerary.”</p><p>“Why would I check the itinerary when I have you?” Dream smiles at him, and when George smiles back, guileless and open, he ignores the way his stomach jumps.</p><p>George falls asleep before they’re out of Seattle, his head lolling awkwardly. Dream glances at him and resists the urge to trace his fingers over George’s cheek, to gently guide his head into a more restful position. </p><p>The radio sputters out somewhere along the I-5, and just as he’s getting used to the static, Dream feels a small nudge in his side. “Look,” George says sleepily, pointing.</p><p>“What am I looking at?”</p><p>George peers up at him through eyelashes that should be illegal and says, “That license plate’s from Rhode Island.”</p><p>“Oh, huh, it is,” Dream says. “They also have a bumper sticker that says ‘I never leave Rhode Island.’”</p><p>“And one that says ‘This car climbed Mount Washington.’”</p><p>“Bit far from Rhode Island,” Dream says speculatively, and George’s quiet laugh fills his ears. </p><p>The next time Dream looks over, George is asleep again, and this time, Dream lets himself nudge George’s head into place. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>George wakes up somewhere in northern California and stretches, his bones crackling. He feels like he’s been asleep for years. </p><p>“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Dream says, and George looks over.</p><p>“Oh, sorry,” he says. “You should’ve woken me up.”</p><p>“No, it’s alright,” Dream says. </p><p>The sun is setting, throwing streaks of color across the horizon, and above, George can make out the moon, a pale white sliver in the sky. “We should stop soon,” he says.</p><p>“We can stop here,” Dream says. “You told me you’ve never sat to watch the sunset before.”</p><p>This is true, but George doesn’t think he’s talked about it in years. “I’m surprised you remembered.”</p><p>“Like I’d forget,” Dream says. </p><p>“We can pull over there,” George says. Ahead of them, a mountain range looms, both comforting and imposing. Dream obliges, turning off the car. The sudden silence sits heavily in their ears, and George gets out, the air cool on his face. </p><p>“Here,” Dream says, opening the back of the station wagon so they can sit. “Did you bring the colorblind glasses?”</p><p>“Dream,” George says, “I’m already colorblind.”</p><p>“Not the—” Dream cuts himself off. “The color-correcting glasses? The glasses that help your colorblindness—?”</p><p>George smiles at him. “Yeah, I did. Wouldn’t be much of a sunset without them, would it?”</p><p>“You fucker,” Dream says, and George slides the glasses onto his face. </p><p>“Oh,” he says. “This is…” He trails off. The sun sinks slowly beyond the horizon, casting soft orange rays on their faces. </p><p>George looks at Dream, whose eyes are fixed on the sky. Dream lowers his head onto George’s shoulder. </p><p>“That can’t be comfortable,” he comments, both at the awkward angle of Dream’s neck and the boniness of his own shoulder.</p><p>“It isn’t the worst,” Dream says, but tugs them both down so that they’re lying on the futon, pressed shoulder to shoulder. “This is nice.”</p><p>“It is,” George says. “Sapnap would be talking right now.”</p><p>“We’re talking,” Dream says. </p><p>“My voice sounds better,” George mutters.</p><p>Dream inhales like he’s going to say something, but subsides. Stars begin to dot the sky, fading slowly into view as it gets darker. “Look, George,” he says softly. “It’s your favorite constellation.”</p><p>George only knows one constellation, and they both know it. Still, he lies there as Dream points out more constellations, the night sky twinkling brighter than he knew it ever could, and doesn’t think he’s ever felt more content in his life. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The next day, George insists on taking the wheel first. They’d fallen asleep in the back of the station wagon the night before, sprawled on the mattress, and though Dream is sure that George is nursing a neckache from the way he keeps rubbing at it, George says he’ll be damned if he lets Dream drive the whole day again.</p><p>“Besides,” he adds, “you won’t fall asleep on me, so we can actually be road trip buddies.”</p><p>“Okay,” Dream says, and sets his efforts to trying to find a radio station. He cycles through a few AM talk show stations before finally finding one that plays music.</p><p>George cocks his head. “Is this… Christian rock?”</p><p>“It might be,” Dream admits, and now that he’s listening he can hear the words <em> Jesus </em> and <em> love. </em> “I can change it.”</p><p>“No, leave it.” George’s smile is lazy and relaxed, and he’s got the look on his face that means he’s about to crack a <em> terrible </em> joke. “Have you ever noticed how sexual Christian music is?”</p><p>Dream snorts. “I’m on the internet too, George. I’ve seen that Tweet.”</p><p>“No, but listen,” George says, and they both do for a minute. “I think this guy is asking Jesus to fuck him.”</p><p>Dream is startled into a laugh. “Oh my god, I think you’re right.”</p><p><em> “Take me, lord,” </em> George sings along, and Dream can’t stop laughing.</p><p>“Stop, stop, you’re so bad at this.”</p><p>“We can’t all be talented musical geniuses like you,” George says, and Dream shoves him, because they both know he sings like a dying cat. “Hey! Don’t shove the driver!”</p><p>“Sacred right,” Dream says promptly. </p><p>“I could kill us right now,” George threatens, and with a shit-eating grin, Dream reaches out like he’s going to tickle George, and George screams. </p><p>“I haven’t even touched you yet,” Dream says, wheezing. </p><p>“You’d better not,” George says, shuddering, and jumps when Dream reaches out, but all he does is lace their fingers together, smiling sweetly. “I don’t trust you,” George says, making to pull his hand away, but stops when Dream gives him his best wounded look.</p><p>“Ugh, fine,” he says, laying his hand on the center console, their fingers still tangled together.</p><p>“I <em> knew </em> you loved me,” Dream says triumphantly.</p><p>“That’s a given,” George says, keeping his eyes on the road, and it takes all of Dream’s inner resolve to say nothing.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They reach San Francisco that afternoon. When they drive over the Golden Gate Bridge, Dream lets out a little cheer. “Finally! My ass is sore.”</p><p>George has to laugh. “I’ve been the one driving, you prick.”</p><p>“Long legs,” Dream says, stretching one out. “I feel scrunched up.”</p><p>They spend half an hour in Fisherman’s Wharf, looking at the seals. George looks over and sees wonder in Dream’s eyes.</p><p>“They’re so cuuute,” Dream coos, and George feels his heart melt a little. “Take a picture of me with them?”</p><p>“Anything for you, Dream,” George says, sounding more sarcastic than he’d intended. Dream lets out a single wheeze and poses at the railing, and when George snaps a picture, Dream is back at his side instantly, their fingers brushing as he tries to look at the picture. </p><p>“Lemme see,” he says. </p><p>“Here,” George says. </p><p>Dream takes the phone from George’s hand, looks at it for a second, then turns the phone to take a selfie of the two of them.</p><p>George throws up a peace sign, and Dream slings his arm around George’s shoulder. </p><p>They’re both squinting to hell, but George makes it his lockscreen anyway.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They stop at a tiny diner just outside the California border, and the menus they’re given are the same finger-sticky as the tables and vinyl seats. </p><p>Dream adores it. It reminds him of his childhood, inexplicably, the griminess of the floor paired with the smell of bacon grease and burnt potatoes. </p><p>“What can I get ya?” Their waitress asks, notepad open, and Dream smiles at her.</p><p>“Pancakes, please. And iced tea.”</p><p>George orders eggs and bacon, and the waitress leaves, returning with one steaming cup of coffee and one iced tea. </p><p>“I think even the stickiness is sticky,” George whispers, pressing his palm into the table.</p><p>Dream unwraps his straw. “It has charm.”</p><p>He watches George pour too much sugar in his coffee and longs, for a minute—lets his eyes trace over the lines of George’s face. George looks up, mouth open like he’s about to say something, but when he catches Dream’s eye, his face softens.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“It’s nothing,” Dream says, and flicks the balled up straw wrapper into George’s coffee.</p><p>“Dream,” George says, fishing it out. Dream just bats his eyelashes innocently, and George laughs, leaning back in his chair, eyes crinkled into half-moons. <em> I love you, </em> Dream thinks, and thinks he will have all the time in the world to say it. </p><p>George crosses his ankle with Dream’s under the table. Dream smiles his softest smile, the one he’s always reserved for George, and says nothing.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Motel rooms with a single bed are cheaper. Motel rooms with a single bed are cheaper, and they’re college students on a budget. The man behind the desk at the motel eyes them both suspiciously, but doesn’t comment as Dream hands him his credit card. </p><p>George follows Dream back outside, watches as Dream unlocks the door to their room with a grand and dramatic flourish. </p><p>“Thank fuck,” George says, flopping onto the bed. </p><p>“Take off your shoes first, at least,” Dream says.</p><p>“Why would I do that if I have you to do that for me?” He lifts his feet, and hears Dream snort, but his shoes are gently tugged off, deposited on the carpet with light, twin <em> thumps. </em></p><p>“Scoot over,” Dream says. There’s a rustle of fabric, and Dream, sans hoodie, lies down next to George gingerly, keeping at least a foot of space between them.</p><p>“If you fall off the bed, don’t blame me,” George says without opening his eyes, and hears Dream sigh heavily before pressing in closer, until the ghost of his warmth brushes George’s back. George rolls over, and when Dream holds out his arms, he doesn’t hesitate to go into them. </p><p>Dream mutters something into his hair, low and nearly inaudible, and George would wonder about it, except then he’s too asleep to think anymore.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“We should stop soon,” Dream says, cracking his knuckles against his thigh.</p><p>George looks over at him. “What for?”</p><p>“Lunch? Bathroom break? Something,” he says. “It feels like we’ve been driving through nothing but desert forever.”</p><p>“We’ll get to Colorado soon,” George says, checking the map. “We can take a picture with one of the ‘Welcome to Colorado’ signs.”</p><p>“I don’t have storage in my phone anymore,” Dream says.</p><p>“We’re not even halfway across the country yet,” George says, amused. “What have you been taking pictures of?”</p><p><em> You, mostly, </em> Dream thinks. “Not much,” he says lightly. “Documenting for my mom, you know.”</p><p>“Right,” George says, and when Dream glances over, George is just smiling down at his phone. “Sure.”</p><p>Dream thinks about reaching over, putting his hand on George’s thigh, but this is enough.</p><p>They do get to Colorado, and George tries to take a picture of Dream in front of the sign. “You’re the one without space on your phone,” he says, when Dream tries to protest. </p><p>“I’ll <em> make </em> space,” Dream says, deleting Snapchat. “Get in front of the sign, George.” He tries to sound threatening, and thinks he fails, because even though George obliges, he’s smiling broadly, dimples in full force.</p><p>Dream wants to take George’s face in his hands and press his lips to them. Instead, he takes a picture of George, posing in front of the sign, looking not at the camera but at Dream, eyes soft and shining. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“What if we went camping?” George asked. “Like, stopped at a campsite, stayed there for the night? I think there’s one up ahead.”</p><p>Dream makes a show of turning to look at their backseat, devoid of anything save their bags and what seems like millions of blankets.</p><p>“We could stop at a grocery store,” George says. He doesn’t know why he’s so set on this, but he knows he wants it now he’s said it. “Get supplies.”</p><p>Dream can deny George nothing, and they both know this. Still, he puts effort into making it seem like this isn’t the case. “I don’t know,” he says slowly. </p><p>“It’s cheaper than staying in a motel?” George tries. “And think about how nice it’ll be—we can have a campfire…”</p><p>“You had me at ‘campfire,’” Dream says, and George reaches out to push his shoulder.</p><p>They stop at a Walmart near Vail, Colorado, and Dream pushes the cart and doesn’t comment on what George is picking. “We’ll cook dinner,” George says cheerfully. “It’ll be fun.”</p><p>“You know the only thing I can make is breakfast,” Dream says.</p><p>“I’ll cook dinner,” George amends. “And you can watch.”</p><p>They pile the stuff into the station wagon—bags of ice in the cooler, firewood in the trunk—and George drives until the city fades into wilderness.</p><p>“I used to go camping with my mum,” George says. </p><p>“You’ve never told me that,” Dream says, and his voice is curious. </p><p>“It hasn’t happened in years,” George says. “We used to pack up all our things and go camping for a weekend, or a week, and inevitably we’d get sick of it after a day and stay in a motel.”</p><p>Dream does the little nose-exhale thing. “It sounds sweet, though. Like she just wanted to bond with you.”</p><p>“Yeah,” George smiles. “I miss her.”</p><p>“You’ll see her soon,” Dream says, nudging him in the side. “We can take lots of pictures at the campsite for her.”</p><p>“I won’t need to worry about having enough pictures of myself,” George quips, and Dream is quiet for a minute. George glances over, out of the corner of his eye, and there’s an odd expression on Dream’s face, one he doesn’t recognize.</p><p>Dream clears his throat. “I guess you won’t.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“This was nice,” Dream says, stretching. The remnants of their dinner have been properly disposed of, leftovers packed away, and they’re both sitting on logs in front of the fire. “This kinda feels like… summer camp.”</p><p>“Summer camp,” George repeats.</p><p>“That’s what I said,” Dream says. “Do they not have summer camps in the UK?”</p><p>George sputters. “Do we have—of <em> course </em> we have summer camps in the UK, moron.”</p><p>“Hey, don’t call me a moron,” Dream says, bumping George’s shoulder with his own. </p><p>George snorts. “I will when you stop being a moron.”</p><p>“You know you love me,” Dream says, taking his hand.</p><p>George rolls his eyes, but doesn’t pull away. </p><p>“I used to,” Dream starts, then stops.</p><p>“Used to what?” George laces their fingers together, and pulls them into his lap.</p><p>“Last year,” Dream says, staring into the fire so he doesn’t have to meet George’s gaze, “was probably the worst I've ever felt in my life.”</p><p>George slides a little closer to him.</p><p>“I just always felt like there was something missing, and I was sad, like, all the time.” He looks up, where little stars are starting to come out. </p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me?” George doesn’t sound hurt, just confused, and Dream aches a little.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Dream says. “I just… didn’t want to bother you. Or something.”</p><p>George hums.</p><p>“I don’t feel like that anymore,” Dream says. “And it’s because of you.”</p><p>“Oh.” George sounds contemplative, and Dream turns his head a little. “Because of me?”</p><p>“I mean, yeah,” Dream says, aware that he’s put his foot in his mouth in some way but unsure of how to fix it. “Yeah, because of you.”</p><p>George looks away, into the trees. “Do you remember when we met?”</p><p>“It was a frat party, wasn’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah,” George says, rubbing circles into the back of Dream’s hand. “I said something to you, do you remember?”</p><p>Dream wracks his brain, but can’t. All he can remember is a million days since, bad hangovers in the dining hall and late night study sessions at the library, George’s smile a hundred thousand times over. “I don’t,” he says. “What was it?”</p><p>George smiles a wry, little smile. “It’s probably better if you don’t,” he says. “It’s a little embarrassing.”</p><p>“Oh, now you have to tell me,” Dream says, nudging him. George exhales, shaky.</p><p>“I was drunk,” he starts, his voice low, “and I told you were the hottest person I’d ever seen in my life.”</p><p>Dream feels sweat break out on his forehead. “You—you what?”</p><p>“I only know because Sapnap decided to tell me about it right before we left,” George says, not looking at him. </p><p>“D-Did he say anything else?” Dream can feel his heartbeat in his fingers, right where George has tightened his grip.</p><p>“He told me to do something,” George says. “Said I should’ve done it a long time ago.”</p><p>The fire flickers in front of them. </p><p>“Dream,” George says. “Look at me.”</p><p>Dream does. The firelight plays over George’s face, his eyes molten amber, opaque, unreadable. They’re so close, warmth fanning out over Dream’s chin as George exhales. “I’m going to kiss you,” he says.</p><p>Dream’s breath stutters as his heart stops. Before he can say anything, George bridges the gap between them, achingly gentle, his lips brushing against Dream’s. Dream’s world balloons, then shrinks, compresses, falls apart. George’s hand on his cheek. Dream breathes him in, feels his brain liquefy, the steady pressure of George’s hands on him. </p><p>It’s too much. It’s not enough. When they pull apart, George’s smile is small and mischievous, thumb still stroking patterns into Dream’s cheek. </p><p><em> You shine so brightly, </em> Dream thinks, and lets himself fall.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They wake up to watch the sun rise over a nearby lake, and this time, Dream’s arm is around George’s shoulder, anchoring him. The colorblind glasses are on George’s face, and he watches, transfixed, as the sky begins to lighten, turning the horizon into a medley of colors. </p><p>“It’s beautiful,” George says. (He’s never actually seen the sunrise before. Not like this.)</p><p>“You’re beautiful,” Dream says, and George lifts his head to make fun of him, make a quip, maybe, but is struck by the soft, awed look on Dream’s face, like all his dreams are coming true at once. He can’t make fun of him. Instead, he kisses him. </p><p>Dream brings his hand up to cup George’s cheek, kissing him lazily. Dream’s other hand runs up and down George’s waist, and, dizzily, George thinks that Dream is <em> far </em> too good at this for someone who’s only had one girlfriend. </p><p><em> “You’re going to be the death of me,” </em>Dream had murmured into his hair, something he’s known all along. </p><p>“You’re wrong, by the way,” George says. Dream pushes his colorblind glasses up and into his hair. </p><p>“What am I wrong about?”</p><p>“<em>You’re </em> going to be the death of <em> me</em>.”</p><p>He can feel Dream smile against his forehead. “Is that so?”</p><p>“You’re difficult like that,” George says, kissing him again.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They stay at the campsite only one more day before packing everything up and hitting the road again. </p><p>“Karl and Sapnap are going to meet us in Kansas City,” George says, as the border of Colorado shrinks behind them. </p><p>Dream looks over at him. George is already looking back, fondness in his eyes. “Kansas City in Missouri, or Kansas City in Kansas?”</p><p>“There’s a Kansas City in Missouri?”</p><p>“It’s probably the one you’re thinking of,” Dream says. “Home of the Kansas City Chiefs.”</p><p>“Ah, American football,” George says, looking back down at his phone. “I’m not sure, actually.”</p><p>“I don’t think it makes a difference, they share a border,” Dream says. </p><p>“We’ll figure it out,” George says, and takes Dream’s hand. Dream knows he’s not going to be the first to let go.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if you liked it (or if you didn’t), please leave a comment!</p><p>and if you haven't already, check out my longer DNF fic that's part coffee shop AU, part small-time streamer AU, entirely slow burn. thanks for reading :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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